I was sitting with the receptionist in my new office the other day. We were going over some processes, in fact, she was giving me some instructions. As we were speaking, a door opened, and two people came out. One was the COO, the other was an old friend. A class mate. We went to high school together. We looked at each other, we shook hands, exchanged emails, and parted. Last time we met was over twenty eight years ago.
This can only happen in Israel.
A few days go by, and an email comes in. My new old friend said he visits the area where I work on occasion. We decided to have lunch. No date was set yet.
Another couple of days pass, and another email came in. It was yet another old class mate, who happen to know the other guy. Naturally. He said he would love to come for lunch. I said it would be great, and that our other friend would be there too. We were all excited, expecting, anticipating the reunion.
Today, a few hours ago, one guy called and I went downstairs to meet him. We hugged, and a few minutes later the other called saying he was coming up. We met for lunch in a great Brazilian restaurant. Papagayo. And if we didn’t have enough surprises yet, there was our third class mate, accompanied by the fourth, who came with him.
There we were, four old friends. Indeed, two of them are good friends, two others saw each other a couple of times during the last three decades. Four old friends meeting after more than a quarter century.
This is Israel. The land of everlasting friendship.
Names start flying around. Two dead friends are brought up. One killed in a car accident, the other suffered a heart attack. Three are divorced, two remarried. All successful in their respective occupations. Children, school, military services. Degrees, ranks, and wars. Experiences, jokes, comedy and tragedy. Friendship.
As I said before. Only in Israel. Only at home. Welcome home Amiram. You’ve been missed.
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